


just a boy undercover (and a boy with the getaway)

by volchitsae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood and Injury, Gen, Gun Violence, Knife Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volchitsae/pseuds/volchitsae
Summary: Atsumu reaches out, clearly ready since birth to fuck with people. "Hey, I'm Atsumu Miya. Nice to work with The Lonely Lance." Osamu tries to kick at the back of his knee, but Atsumu is already moving toward Sakusa to get into his space.Sakusa grasps the tips of Atsumu's fingers with his gloved hand for half a second before snatching it back. The warmth of the leather makes Atsumu's fingers twitch."It's Sakusa. I know who you are." Atsumu notes that he does not look pleased at all.Instantly, his feud with Osamu hits the back burner. Atsumu wants to piss off the livingshitout of this guy, 24/7, 365.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 38
Kudos: 466





	1. out of the blue

**Author's Note:**

> this work is a gift for [painpackerrisingsun](https://painpackerrisingsun.tumblr.com) on tumblr/ [@painpackerrs](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs) on twitter, inspired by their artwork of sakusa and atsumu in a [undercover spy AU!](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs/status/1231347889311539200?s=21)
> 
> this is rated mature for: gun and knife violence/fights, killing guards, depictions of gunshot and knife injuries, blood, mentions of kidnapping, and plenty of swearing.

Let it be known that Miya Atsumu is kind of having a shit day.

It started out fine, of course; waking up on the too small bed, morning routine, getting dressed, banging on the door of Osamu's room across the hall and getting "I'm up, fucker, get me French toast before Hinata's eaten it all" through the steel, sauntering down to the cafeteria to snag breakfast and sitting down with some actual artisanal coffee as the rest of the crew wake up.

His schedule for the day was more lax, but not unexpected after coming back from a C level mission with Osamu. Just training and then some meetings about the next missions Daichi was thinking of assigning them to, followed by some research on whatever those missions might be. Osamu's better at the research, really. Atsumu was hoping for some more intense to sink his teeth into. The last one was a minor drug bust and had few leads to where the drugs were coming from.

"G'morning, Atsumu-san!" Hinata slides into the bench seat across from him, plates and silverware jostling on the overloaded tray.

"Mornin', Hinata. Tobio." Kageyama gives him a respectful nod and sits down next to Hinata.

Pushing eggs into his mouth, Atsumu mumbles, "Mission today?"

Hinata makes a noise of affirmation around the toast shoved into his mouth.

"Leffel B, Veh-han-ree -"

"Weaponry confiscation," Kageyama fills in, shoving at Hinata's arm. "Don't choke."

"Are you sure Hinata should have that much powdered sugar, Kageyama?" Bokuto climbs into the seat next to Atsumu and nudges him as a greeting. Akaashi sits across from Bokuto, quirks the corners of his mouth and says, "He's got a vegetable omelette like you have, Kou, it's balanced."

Atsumu hums a hello and tries to remember if Daichi's said anything about weapons at their debriefing. He can vaguely remember Kenma giving the quietest Powerpoint presentation ever about how all of their missions lately are linking back to a rogue organization that's got a surprising amount of money coming from somewhere, and the local government's given them full jurisdiction on how to handle this new drug and weapon dealing boyband.

Real exciting. Atsumu makes a mental note to ask Daichi for a high level mission - if they can continue climbing the ranks as they have been, beat out Hinata and Kageyama and make it to where Bokuto and Akaashi are.... The coveted spot at the top held by Iwaizumi and Oikawa is less and less sturdy since they've been overseas in South America tracing leads, stuck on the one top secret mission. Atsumu can see their names up on the wall now.

He's about to ask Kageyama if their case is in the same area as his and Osamu's was until he's rapped on the head by Osamu's knuckles.

"I got my hair to look effortlessly tousled, don't touch me," is what he says instead, holding the French toast hostage and extending it towards Hinata's sugary face. Hinata snatches the plate but hands it over back to Osamu because his twin actually squawks like a bird - Atsumu is never going to make that sound, ever.

"That's bedhead like mine, we have the same hair." Osamu shoves his head again before ambling over to Kuroo and Kenma seated with Daichi and Sugawara two benches over.

"Level A, 'Samu!" Atsumu calls out, to a middle finger from Osamu and a grin out of Daichi. Score. Definitely Level A sometime soon.

Atsumu picks up the pace on his eggs to make it to the training arena early.

* * *

The day goes to shit when Osamu walks into the arena and grabs the sandbag Atsumu is practicing a combo of punches and kicks on.

"Ready to spar?" Atsumu swipes at the sweat on his brow. Osamu's got his forehead all wrinkly with his worried expression and Atsumu is about to tell him to keep it up so he can be the beautiful twin.

"I asked Daichi and Suga about -"

"Level A? It better be, I'd even settle for a B -"

"I asked about going into intelligence with Kenma and Kuroo," Osamu says, and it's like the words don't match up with his mouth because Atsumu was ready to hear "Level A," not "we're not going to be partners anymore".

What the fuck.

"What the _fuck_?" is also what he says to Osamu.

Osamu steps around the sandbag to face him. "'Tsumu -"

"No, explain. Wait, don't. What the fuck?" Atsumu wrenches his earphones out of his ears, throwing them and his phone onto the bench. The music is tinny from this far. "What's wrong with you, we're on our way to the top -"

"It's not like I'm leavin' all of this, I'm sayin' I wanna be helpful -"

Oh, _really?_ Atsumu can feel a flame of anger lick across his chest.

"Kickin' the asses of the lowest of the low ain't _helpful_ enough?" Atsumu sneers. He can see Osamu's jaw tighten as they advance towards each other.

"Let me finish, fuck's sake, we've always known that I like it way more than you. I'm good at it, you know Sugawara drags me over to Kuroo n' Kenma all the time. You're good at what you do, and most of the time on missions I'm the one rememberin' all the details - "

"And what, then you'll just be at a desk all day! What's wrong with bein' your control freak self with me, as _real_ agents?"

Osamu's eyes flash as he folds his arms across his chest. "Agents wouldn't be anything without the intel they get before and during their missions."

"You search for intel in the middle of missions anyway. Why're you deciding ta' go now? We’re a _team._ You afraid or something? This entire business is about kill or be killed, at a desk or not."

Osamu exhales a sharp sigh, glaring at something in the distance like _Atsumu's_ the idiot. "Don't go sayin' I'm afraid. I’m not."

Atsumu gets up in his face and hisses, "Bein' at a computer instead of in combat sounds real afraid, if ya' ask me."

"No one's asking," Osamu says, and Atsumu shoves him back.

Osamu doesn't stumble. ""Tsumu, I know I can be way more useful in intel than I was in the field. I ain't compromising anything about our jobs here. I've even asked Daichi if I could be the one to give _you_ info when you're out there. I ain't goin' anywhere."

Atsumu is inclined to disagree, thank you very much. He can't imagine a different partner. It would mean cooperation with someone else. It would mean being without his brother by his side or guarding each other’s backs, which is frankly unfathomable. Who else would understand him, the way his twin does?

"Then if - when - I'm done for, you'd rather be sittin' there watching it happen?"

At that, Osamu looks stricken. They've never talked about either one of them dying before; it's always been the truth that if one of them gets in trouble, the other is literally right beside them to pull them out of it.

 _Until now_ , Atsumu guesses. He turns his back on Osamu, unable to look at him.

"You'll get a partner and he's going to match you better than I could," Osamu is saying, but it's all wrong. Who else could _match_ him other than the person who shares the exact same DNA?

"When you meet him, and when you understand what I mean when you work with him, I'll say I told you so, 'Tsumu."

Atsumu doesn't want to give Osamu the satisfaction. If that's what he wants, fine. _Fine_. But Atsumu's going to be the shittiest partner ever so Daichi and Sugawara yank Osamu out of that fucking computer chair and into tactical gear, right where he belongs.

Atsumu turns around and marches right back up to him.

"And when I'm dead, you’ll know I died being the right one," he snarls, shoving Osamu again before stalking off to his room.

It's not until after he's done fuming that he realizes he didn't ask Osamu who that partner is going to be.

* * *

The meeting later in the day is somewhat tense. Atsumu's glowering into the distance, but Osamu, Suga, and Daichi are their normal selves.

Daichi shuffles a few papers around in front of him in the boardroom.

"So the latest project I'd like you both to be on will be to investigate the businessman Roger Boulton.” He holds up a paparazzi image of a man in his early 30’s. “Kuroo tracked the suitcases containing the methamphetamines you hauled in last time to an expensive custom shop downtown." Next to Daichi, Suga pulls open the suitcase in question open to point at a brand name embroidered in the lining.

"Akaashi and Bokuto went there earlier this week to get more info, and after placing a mock order for a suitcase similar to these ones we got the name of the last few people who have ordered them. They're all employees under Boulton's insurance company, Young Insurance Co. It's probably a farce," Suga says.

Osamu is intently taking notes while Atsumu has his hands shoved into his pant pockets. He wants to snatch that pen out of Osamu's hands.

Daichi continues by grabbing a few profiles and turning them around so they can see the names and faces.

"The local police haven't been able to get much information out of the people you captured transporting the drugs, so we'll leave it to you. They're being held downstairs, so whenever you feel like you've got enough info, head over there to interrogate."

"As you already know, they're the businessman type," Suga says, toying at one of his cufflinks. "I'd recommend dressing like one too; it might make them feel more comfortable."

Atsumu scoffs. "More lenient, you mean? With designer suits?" Suga shrugs in response.

"Do you even have a suit?" Osamu mutters, knowing well they did nothing but work in suits even though Atsumu is currently still in his training gear. Atsumu smacks his arm.

"One more thing. With the changes in your roles -" Atsumu huffs again through his nose and Daichi resolutely ignores the attitude - "I'd like to partner you with someone new, Atsumu. Osamu will handle you both in terms of in field missions, but you and your partner will still have to keep in touch with him as you learn more about who we're trying to take down."

"And who, pray tell, is this partner?" Atsumu drawls, wheeling his chair back to kick his feet up on the table.

Daichi glances up and the door behind Atsumu clicks open.

"Sakusa Kiyoomi," the person at the door says. Atsumu swivels around, the sound of his boots hitting the carpet causing the stranger to furrow his brow.

The man standing at the door is dressed in a three piece suit, black shirt on black vest on black tie, black jacket buttoned up. He has matching leather gloves on his hands shoved into his pant pockets, and a black cloth mask stretched over what Atsumu deems as a strong nose and cheekbones sharp enough to give his own a run for his money. His hair is ink black, too, and wavy, bangs falling around his forehead to frame the two moles in parallel above his eyebrow. He bows in greeting.

“Thank you for having me.”

He's actually not a stranger - not to anyone working here, of course. Atsumu remembers the details like a video game profile unrolling in his head.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, 24 years old, known as the Lance. Started working as an agent here at the age of twenty. His most recent case was seven months ago; he's the agent who uncovered the illegal price inflation on cancer treatment drugs in the next jurisdiction over and the politicians behind it. He'd had to make those heads roll, and rumor has it that he'd laid out plastic tarp in their homes to kill them spotlessly. He never touched them; he'd stood at the top of their staircases and waited, and then shot them point blank. When questioned about the tarp, he'd just said that it was disgusting how blood got everywhere and taking the time to prevent the stains was worth it. He never takes off the gloves. Atsumu doesn't think anyone has seen him without them on, or the mask off.

What a weirdo.

The final thing: Sakusa Kiyoomi has always worked alone.

Atsumu feels a grin slide across his face. Everyone stands, with Osamu, Daichi, and Suga folding their hands in front of them respectfully.

Atsumu reaches out, clearly ready since birth to fuck with people. "Hey, I'm Atsumu Miya. Nice to work with The Lonely Lance." Osamu tries to kick at the back of his knee, but Atsumu is already moving toward Sakusa to get into his space.

Sakusa grasps the tips of Atsumu's fingers with his gloved hand for half a second before snatching it back. The warmth of the leather makes Atsumu's fingers twitch.

"It's Sakusa. I know who you are." Atsumu notes that he does not look pleased at all.

Instantly, his feud with Osamu hits the back burner. Atsumu wants to piss off the living _shit_ out of this guy, 24/7, 365.

He can feel Daichi's smile behind him. "Sakusa, I've just briefed the Miyas with the same info you have. I'd like you to go with Atsumu to interrogate the subjects we have while Osamu gathers the info he can on Boulton. Report anything you two get out of them to Osamu."

"Yes, sir," Sakusa says, picks up the profiles on the table, and then turns on his heel and just fucking leaves to the basement without waiting for Atsumu. Atsumu needs to change.

"Hurry up," Osamu says, and Atsumu flips him off on his way out.

"You think they'll be alright?" Suga asks Daichi. Osamu still has a grimace on his face at _The Lonely Lance_.

Daichi chuckles and begins to gather the rest of the paperwork on the table. "I think they'll be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> work title and chapter titles from [automatically in love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15n1DoNJMJU) by carly rae jepsen. dedicated is a fantastic album. if you haven't listened to it yet, please do!


	2. a little time to adjust

Daichi is wrong.

Sakusa - _Omi-kun_ , Atsumu's taken to calling him - and Atsumu butt heads on everything from that day forward.

Well, it's more like Atsumu does his best to pry open the stubborn, sanitized onion that is Sakusa layer by layer. He thinks it would be hard to be expressive with half your face covered - but Sakusa is really quite expressive, disdain conveyed at everything around him with a wrinkle in his eyebrow and a fixed, flat glare. He holds his body closed in complete opposition to Atsumu's swinging arms and chin tilted upwards.

Atsumu wants to good cop-bad cop the interrogations with him being the good cop and Sakusa as bad cop (obviously), but Sakusa is having none of it. His interrogation style is straightforward, even cutting; how fitting, for The Lance. Atsumu tries to buddy-buddy it, shaking hands, offering coffee, snacks.

Sakusa cuts his eyes at Atsumu, nonplussed. "This is an interrogation, Miya, not a coffee shop."

"What's wrong with helping them get comfortable? These chairs are awful, Omi-kun, you know that."

Sakusa doesn't reply, only shuffling the sheets in front of him to the correct profile and clearing his throat. He shifts away as Atsumu flops into his chair, limbs akimbo.

"What doughnut's your favourite?" Atsumu smiles at the perp handcuffed in front of him, the veneer of friendliness sliding on as easily as Sakusa's own masks. "I like chocolate dip."

"Your life as you know it is over. Do you have kids? Are you worried for them? Is this why you do this work? How do you think you're going to get out of this? I can help you out of this dead end situation that you, frankly, got yourself into. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you know."

Sakusa interrogates like he knows he's their only salvation.

* * *

Atsumu reports their findings to Osamu after the several hours of people they went through. Sakusa left it to him, exhaustion in the slouch of his shoulders. Atsumu is tired of the hollow metal chairs and fluorescent light, too.

"Turns out it's more than just drugs, 'Samu. People, too. They're kidnappin' and traffickin' _teens_ out to the coast. Lots of bases and houses, Omi-kun got the number and addresses out of them too. Monster."

"Fucked up," Osamu says around the end of the pen in his mouth, typing the info from their clipboards into the computer. He looks at home surrounded by paper and three monitor screens. Atsumu tries not to think about it. He isn't sure if Osamu's calling the crime or Sakusa the monster, but hums in agreement for both.

"Whaddaya think? We go investigate these houses and see what we can find?"

Osamu nods. "I'll get you the spots in a mo', you'll be taking these houses as fast as you can. Kenma figured out how they monitor them, so once you get in, we'll run fake intel to their cameras so they don't know what's coming for 'em." Atsumu barely stops himself from whistling with impressment.

"Sounds good. I'm ready." Osamu looks at him then, illuminated by the blue glow of his monitors. Perhaps he expected a smart comment? Atsumu's feeling benevolent.

"Get some beauty sleep first, we'll have you meet Suga at 8am sharp."

Atsumu groans. Benevolence is out. " _Fuck_ you, not 9?"

"It's a long drive. SUV, though. It's nice."

"You think Sakusa likes pop music?"

Osamu shrugs. "I don't think Sakusa likes anything."

"I'm gonna make him like pop."

"Rest in peace."

Kuroo salutes him from across the room and Atsumu returns the gesture.

* * *

"There’s a total of five houses you’re handling along the coastline with either drugs, guns or people in them, or all of the above," Suga says, as he's looping a tactical belt around Atsumu's waist. His weapons and components of his bulletproof suit are laid out in front of them. Usually Suga is the one to deck them out before each trip, being the one to manage their equipment; he supposes Sakusa is the exception. Trying not to look like he's doing it, Atsumu watches Sakusa slide his vest and jacket out of a clear garment bag without allowing them to touch the table underneath and put them on, along with his weaponry, piece by piece.

There are more guns that Sakusa straps to himself than Atsumu expected. There are two handguns in holsters on the belt, but he also has a shoulder holster over the suit vest that hangs two more guns on either side of his ribcage. Atsumu watches out of the corner of his eye as Sakusa turns to push a fifth handgun into a concealed holster at the small of his back. It's a nice back, the leather harness framing broad shoulders tapering smoothly into a narrow waist. Atsumu pats his hands over his own waist to feel for his own handguns and ammunition.

"Stop fidgeting," Suga mumbles, eyes flicking up at him to catch him watching Sakusa and Atsumu snaps his attention away. He chuckles and rolls his shoulders to get the excess energy out in apology.

"'m just excited, Suga." Atsumu pulls his own shoulder harness off the table and swings it on as Suga grumbles at him for ruining his routine. He pulls a knife from one of the holsters and tests the edge of the blade against the pad of his thumb.

"Has Osamu input the coordinates into the car's GPS?" Sakusa shrugs on his jacket and turns back around at them, doing up a casual one button before his gloved hands go back into his pockets.

Atsumu hears Suga say yes, you won't have to do anything but drive, it's only about half an hour from here to the first house - right now he's more focused on Sakusa having barely spoken to his brother but being on given name terms with him.

"Omi-Omi, why's he Osamu and I'm just Miya? We're partners, aren't we?"

Sakusa glowers in annoyance as he always does at the nickname. "I have to tell you two apart somehow."

"Uh, that's why he's _Osa_ mu and I'm _Atsu_ mu, duh."

"Are you done, Miya? It's half past 8 already."

Suga is apparently also done with their (Atsumu’s) ruckus. “I’ve disinfected the seats and dash,” he says to Sakusa, and waves a cheery goodbye.

Atsumu thinks he's trying to catch his eye to make fun of him about the _checking-Sakusa-out-business_ and decides to keep looking at Sakusa instead.

"I'll get us on first name basis, Omi-kun! Just you wait!"

"You're already there _without_ my permission."

"Aren't I? It's a testament to my personality, I'm just that kind of guy."

"Get in the car, Miya. I'm driving."

"Can't trust me with the wheel?"

"Can't trust anything with you," Sakusa scoffs. That’s a new tone; Atsumu takes it as a victory.

He gets another eyeroll out of Sakusa when he jumps into the car like a kid before he's turning up the pop radio station, and now Sakusa won't even look at him as he pulls out of the garage.

Pushing his buttons is _fun_.

As Sakusa is merging onto the highway at a dangerous speed, the music cuts out to Osamu's voice filtering through the car speakers.

"Yo, I'm your GPS. Make a U-turn and drop my dumb brother back off at HQ, God knows you can do this without him, Sakusa."

"God knows I'm better off without ya, 'Samu." Atsumu ignores the weighted glance Sakusa sends his way.

Osamu scoffs. "Our parents planned for you but God gave them me too, so I've always been the gift -"

"Do you know how many guards we'll have to deal with?" Sakusa interrupts.

Squeaking from the speakers sounds like Osamu is spinning around in his chair to look at his screen. "From the security feeds, four or five goons at each house, give or take. Two to four victims per house. Once you deal with a house, you let me know and I'll send a crew to get those kids to safety and clean up your mess."

"What makes you think we'll leave a mess?" Atsumu says.

"Your entire personality, Miya," Sakusa deadpans, and Osamu cackles across the line so loudly that the audio distorts.

"Omi-kun, that was a _joke_! I'm so proud of you!" Atsumu aims a high five at Sakusa but seeing the gloves tighten on the wheel, he ends up smacking the mic pinhole on the dashboard so Osamu can hear it. He sees Sakusa blink like he expected Atsumu to grab at him and force a high five.

" _Ow_ , you fuck, don't do that again or you're on your own," Osamu mutters.

"Honestly, I'd quite like that. It's bonding time with Omi-kun here," Atsumu says. "Thanks for the tips! Bye!"

"Don't forget to put in your in-ears when y'all get there. Later."

Sakusa makes a turn. Atsumu watches the gloved hands slide across the wheel, then shifts his attention to the window.

“Bonding time?” Sakusa’s expression is stony.

The early start time has Atsumu’s eyelids drooping. “I was kiddin’, we don’t have to. Job first, right? Can’t have us all distracted gettin’ to know each other.” Atsumu settles into his seat, hands folded and fingers tapping to the low music.

They drive in silence to the first set of coordinates.

* * *

They park on a gravel side street behind some trees. The house they’ve arrived at is a small two story house in the countryside. There’s not another house around for at least another mile or two, and Atsumu idly reads the picket signs that note the surrounding plots of lands are for sale through his window.

Sakusa taps on the screen on the dashboard. “Osamu,” he says. “We’re here.”

“Took ya long enough,” Osamu replies. “I’m watching the security feeds right now. Four guards, two on the main floor and two upstairs. All armed. Two hostages on the top floor, back room. On your mark, I’ll tell Kuroo to disable the electronic doorknob.”

“I’ll just knock and go in?” Sakusa is threading the earpiece’s wire around his neck, which reminds Atsumu he needs one too.

“How polite. ‘Tsumu would rather kick down the door, so you’re gonna have to race him for it. They’re away from their security cam station right now, make it quick.”

“Oi, fuck you, last time _you_ busted the door and cut your shin kicking it down. If it was me, I definitely would’ve done it cleaner.”

“Knock and go in,” Sakusa concludes for them, tapping the earpiece he has in to turn it on. Atsumu does the same and they climb out of the car and stroll up to the front door. Each of them draws a handgun from a holster.

“I’ll take the main floor and you go up,” Sakusa says, cocking his gun and curling one gloved hand on the doorknob. “Osamu.”

The lights on the keypad beep and the door unlocks; Sakusa turns the doorknob and pushes it open, following in swiftly. Atsumu follows him in and heads straight for the stairs as fast as he can to get the jump on the guards there. In his peripheral vision, he sees Sakusa nail one guard sitting on the couch straight through the back of his head. The gunshot rings loudly in the open space concept. He passes the entryway to the kitchen past the second guard in the middle of pouring a drink from the refrigerator.

Bounding up the stairs two a time, he can hear the other two guards upstairs swearing, some startled shrieks at the gunshots, and pounding footsteps towards the door he is approaching. It’s a door that opens outward from the inside of the room, he notes, from the hinges on the left.

Atsumu reaches it before them, flinging it open and sliding into the space between the wall and the door. He fires two shots through the door itself, hearing the first man drop, their handgun clattering down the stairs. The second guard stumbles over the first one, whirling around to face Atsumu, who grimaces and fires for the space between his eyebrows.

“Clear, Osamu?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Nice work, you two. I’ll loop footage of things going hunky-dory as you go through these safehouses.” Atsumu relaxes, smoothing out his jacket and walking into the room.

He hadn’t gotten a close look before as they were hurrying in, but the place is a dump inside. The floors and walls are grimy with an odd sheen, the mattresses on the ground stained and yellow like they couldn’t be bothered to furnish the house for their captives. Speaking of – Atsumu can’t see the victims. He glances at the closed closet door, the only place someone could hide in.

Like coaxing spooked animals, he puts away his handgun and approaches the closet with his hands up.

“Hey, kiddos,” he calls out. “I’m with the police. I’m here with my partner to get you out of here.”

No response.

“I’ll wait here. Take your time.” Atsumu slides onto a nearby wooden stool next to the windowsill, propping up one elbow on his knee to look outside at the breeze rippling the ocean of uncut grass. He can hear Sakusa moving around downstairs.

A minute passes by before the closet door cracks open the slightest sliver. Atsumu can see it in his peripheral, but he continues looking out the window without actually focusing on anything except the closet door.

The door opens an inch and then stops. Then another, and then another, until it’s open and two teenage boys unfold their gangly limbs out from the closet. Only then does Atsumu slowly turn to face them, keeping his movements slow and body language relaxed.

“Hey,” he says. “Your ride is coming soon.” The boys just look at him warily, screwdrivers curled in their fists. They tense up when Sakusa appears at the door. Atsumu can tell he’s visibly uncomfortable with the state of the house with the formidable glower on his face.

“Where are you taking us?” one asks, voice cracking with disuse. His lip is bruised like he’s been punched hard on the mouth, and Atsumu thinks of he and Osamu as children rough housing in the backyard. They’re so _young_.

“Back to the city,” he says. “You guys got anything else hidden in here?”

The other boy shakes his head. “How – how can we trust you?”

Atsumu sighs, scratches the back of his head. “I wouldn’t have killed those two guys for no reason. You don’t have to trust me, but you should know I ain’t lying about how we have only a few hours before their higher ups realize someone’s been taking all their …products, and they take you somewhere worse than this.”

The boys look at Sakusa holding the familiar briefcases, then back at Atsumu, before one lowers his screwdriver.

Atsumu smiles at Sakusa. “Ready to head out? Lead the way.”

Sakusa nods and turns on his heel to make his way out to the driveway. On the way down, the Atsumu notices the bodies are gone, dragged down the stairs by Sakusa with a blanket covering them. Sakusa avoids stepping into the blood dripping along the staircase.

Atsumu sees another dark SUV pull up onto the driveway, the driver seat window rolling down to reveal a cheery Bokuto.

“Hiya! Taxi for two!” Bokuto gestures at the boys to get in, and Akaashi waves from the passenger seat. Atsumu opens the side door and Sakusa tosses the suitcases in the trunk before the boys get in.

“Four more to go,” Akaashi says. “Cars have been dispatched to the other locations to keep up with you.” The windows roll up.

“Great job, partner!” Atsumu holds his hand out for a high five and follows after Sakusa completely unfazed when Sakusa turns and walks to their car. They tear down the gravel road to the next location listed on the GPS.

The second house is remarkably similar both in cleanliness and amount of guards to dispatch. He and Sakusa clear it fairly easily as well, and rescue two girls and a boy.

Atsumu is really pleased at their success so far. Third time’s the charm, of course, which means Atsumu is a dumbass and gets injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've not written an action scene before; i hope it flowed reasonably well and it was easy to understand! thanks for reading this chapter.


	3. wind goes the other way

It happens like this: Sakusa is the first one in the house again, but the door opens into a narrow hallway when they get in. The first man taken down is coming out of the bathroom that’s in the hallway, and Atsumu hears scrambling from various locations in the house.

“Living room: two; den, one; kitchen, one; none on the upper floors,” Osamu mutters into their earpieces, and they split up again, Atsumu heading for the victims upstairs. Atsumu tucks and rolls behind the kitchen island when the guard in the kitchen fires at him first. Another shot goes through the wooden island base, flinging the cupboard doors open. Atsumu grabs the edge of the counter and swings himself into the open cupboard to the other side. He stands and fires but misses the other man, who ducks behind the island too. Atsumu himself fires another shot through the open cupboard doors and hears a pained yell. He skids back around the island to land his knees onto the man’s chest and nails him in the head.

His earpiece crackles. “Atsumu, behind –“

Atsumu whirls, but not quite fast enough; his stunts with the island have left him vulnerable to the den adjacent to the kitchen. A sharp throwing knife slices open his lower back under his suit vest, exposed from his jacket flipping up while moving. It stings, but he can’t stop to think. He knows Sakusa has assigned himself to the den although he doesn’t see Sakusa yet; he can hear him shooting at a guard in the living room. Atsumu moves into the room to meet a man armed with two knives and slashing for Atsumu’s neck.

There’s no time to reload. Atsumu drops his gun into his belt holster and whips a knife from his shoulder holster, dodging the man’s swings. He gets in a kick to the gut and one knife drops, then gets a hold of and wrenches the arm holding the remaining knife to the side to shove the man up against the wall. He buries his knife into the side of his throat, and they slide to the floor. An abstract stroke of red spreads down the wall.

Atsumu pulls the knife out to wipe on the man’s jacket after the light in his eyes die out. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Sakusa is already loping up the stairs to the victims.

“All clear. SUV in five,” Osamu says. “‘Tsumu -”

“M’fine,” Atsumu replies, moving towards the stairs and ignoring the way his clothing sticks to his back. He glances into the other rooms and the rest of the guards have bullets in their heads and minimal mess, as expected of Sakusa. Three terrified girls halt at the top of the staircase.

Atsumu leans against the railing and puts on a winning smile. “Evening, ladies, your ride has arrived.”

“Get downstairs,” Sakusa barks from behind them, dark head of hair popping out from around the corner. His scowl turns into a brief flicker of shock before he’s pushing past them to get downstairs himself. “Hurry up.”

Was it something about his own expression that gave it away? Atsumu turns and opens the front door where another vehicle is waiting. He waves at one of the organization’s drivers, and closes the door after the girls get in. 

“It’s his lower back, Sakusa,” Osamu says, and Sakusa wordlessly grabs his arm and yanks him down the hallway.

“Can’t you keep secrets, Osamu?” The call drops out and Atsumu huffs out a laugh. Both he and Osamu have had worse than this. Glancing at the wreckage of the house, Atsumu almost feels kind of bad for wrecking it considering it’s newer and nicer than the previous ones.

Atsumu is dragged into the bathroom where Sakusa pushes him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Sakusa is swearing up a storm as he pulls Atsumu’s jacket off. He swipes one of the knives off Atsumu’s shoulder holster to slice his shirt open from his lower back to his collar. Atsumu can feel the dull edge of the knife glide along his spine before it lifts away, clutching his shirt falling from his shoulders. He tries not to laugh while pulling the shirt off from his front, feeling briefly like he’s clutching his clothes to hide his décolletage or something. He balls up the shirt and tosses it to the floor to pack up later and barely registers the blood at the hem of it.

Sakusa returns with a first aid kit and another shirt from the car while Atsumu fumbles with his tie. His absurd train of thought gets cut off when pain shoots up his back from Sakusa pressing a clean cloth to the wound to stop the blood flow.

The cloth is lifted off and Atsumu relaxes but tenses up again when Sakusa pulls the showerhead hose down and begins rinsing the cut off. He sees Sakusa point over his shoulder at the bottle of liquid soap sitting next to the sink on his left and stretches to grab it and hand it over.

At that point, Atsumu kind of spaces out. The soapy washcloth is at his cut again, then more rinsing, then patted dry. He zones back in when Sakusa gets up to grab something from the kit.

“What’s the verdict, nurse? Can’t you just bandage me up?”

“Stitches,” Sakusa grunts from behind him. He can hear the tear of the foil packet of the hooked needle.

“Hold on to the tub, you’re going to shake like a leaf.”

Atsumu is ready to retort until he sucks in a breath through his teeth at the feeling of cool fingertips coupled with the sting and burn of the needle and thread. He grips the tub’s edge with both hands.

Wait. Where are Sakusa’s gloves?

 _On the sink_ , his brain helpfully fills in, somehow not noticing the point where Sakusa took off his gloves and scrubbed his hands clean. The gloves are draped over the faucet, slick with water like Sakusa washed his hands with his gloves on and then again with them off.

At his lower back, he can feel Sakusa’s left hand shifting carefully along his cut to push the skin together with each stitch. Atsumu suppresses a shiver when blunt nails rake across a vertebra. He’s so focused on Sakusa’s fingers moving across his skin that he barely realizes Sakusa is _still swearing_.

“Fucking stupid fuck, I should’ve dropped him faster –“

“He was just really lucky, Omi-kun, ‘tis but a scratch.”

“That could’ve been your fucking kidney.”

“But it wasn’t,” Atsumu shrugs, and winces when Sakusa smacks him on the shoulder blade because he’s moving and might mess up his stitches. A whole palm and five fingers. Why the hell is he counting? His wound feels like a burning line about six inches long, stinging most where it overlaps his spine.

Sakusa seems mollified or maybe disgruntled. Atsumu feels him smooth tape around a gauze square over the wound, then a gentle _one-two_ tap with two fingertips on the edge of the tape before Sakusa gets up and packs the first aid kit away.

Atsumu shrugs his extra shirt on and buttons up, unbuckling his belt to tuck the shirttails into his slacks before grabbing his tie and looping it under his collar.

“Will you be alright for the last two houses?” Sakusa leans against the doorframe to watch Atsumu shrug his jacket on.

Atsumu nods, reaching for the first aid kit for the painkillers. “Two of these and it’ll feel like I never got cut,” he says, shaking the bottle. He follows Sakusa out to the car.

Osamu is immediately on the line.

“Atsumu, you alright?”

“Fine, ‘Samu, get on with it already,” Atsumu grumbles. He hears Osamu sigh, sharp.

“Two more left,” Osamu says. “We’re a little behind schedule, but Atsumu, you can come back if –”

“Omi-kun’s the Florence Nightingale of our time. It isn’t deep and we’ve gotten worse before without stopping. I’m good.” Atsumu shifts in his seat, grimacing at a flare of pain and trying to regulate his breathing so Osamu can’t hear. Sakusa has just been watching his face so far.

“There was nothing else in this house, so you’re onto the next one. You have six hours starting now to clear them and get back to HQ before they get concerned about the ‘technical difficulties’ they’ve been having in communicating with their guards and send someone to check up on them.”

“Roger that, Captain. I need a nap, hang up,” Atsumu says, already closing his eyes as if his brother could see him.

“You never fall asleep in under an hour in the car, but fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Uh, yeah I do, you were so annoying when we drove to Disneyland. Talk to you when you get there, Sakusa.“

Sakusa flicks cruise control on at a speed well over the speed limit. "What's with you shoving your brother out of the way all the time?"

Atsumu waves him off. "Twin things, you know. Can't get rid of him fast enough." It sounds a little hollow but whatever. Sue him.

He feels that same knowing glance on him.

Changing the subject, he says, "So why'd ya accept a partner now? N' me, of all people?"

"So you've recognized how hard it is to work with you?"

"I'm basically an angel next to you, Omi-kun."

Sakusa snorts, clearly thinking otherwise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm easygoing, super cooperative, friendly, handsome, charming -"

"I think everyone at HQ would say the opposite."

"They would not, everyone knows I'm the easiest to partner with. I just hate incompetence; I know you can relate."

"And I wouldn't be an easy partner? Even with my track record of success?" A delicate brow arches at him. Atsumu can't look away from how the moles shift across his forehead.

His track record _truly_ is admirable, but Atsumu’s never been one to dole out praise just because.

"Omi-kun, you've literally never partnered with anyone until now,” Atsumu says, shifting in his seat to face Sakusa, teasing. “I’m honored, of course; I’ve just been wondering, with your germophobic reputation, I'm stunned we're in the same car together -"

"And?" Sakusa snaps. "Just because of the ‘germophobia’, that means I'm automatically useless? Unreasonable?" There's a steel edge to Sakusa's tone, like Atsumu's got one foot on a landmine.

Normally, Atsumu getting someone worked up like this is a score in his book. He’s always been a dick and knocking people off their game is his favorite pastime. Now it feels wrong, somehow, when it's Sakusa.

He fumbles for words for the first time in a long time. "Ah, well, shit. Y'know none of that matters to me, Omi-kun," he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "It's just how y'are. You get the job done regardless. Reckon I haven't had a job that went this smoothly so far in ages."

He kind of wants to laugh because it hasn’t really gone smoothly, cut on his back and all, but Sakusa looks thoughtful at his rather shit apology. Atsumu wonders if he's thinking about how Atsumu didn't try to touch him earlier - hasn’t tried to at all, frankly. Atsumu wonders how many people have forced him to, how the few fleeting times he passed by Sakusa in the past were when he faked out Bokuto and Hinata’s overenthusiastic high fives.

"It's mysophobia."

"Wha’?"

"New vocabulary for you, country boy."

"Oh, fuck you, asshole," Atsumu laughs.

There's a comfortable silence for a while. Atsumu doesn't mind it. He hums along mindlessly with the music.

"My last job, I didn't think I would make it out alive," Sakusa says.

Atsumu snaps his head from the window to look at him.

“I thought you had it under control? Waiting for them at the top of the staircase?”

Sakusa’s eyes crinkle a little at the corners. 

_He’s smiling? He can do that?_

“Is that the rumor? Leaves out the security detail in each of their mansions I had to take care of. I was so fucking tired, it was around twenty guards _minimum_ per house, one night to do it all.”

Atsumu swallows. Sixty _minimum_? Alone? Now that sounded like death.

“So how’d ya almost die? Got any cool battle scars?”

Sakusa shrugs nonchalantly. "Just a well-placed bullet.” He taps his chest, dangerously close to his heart. “I realized it was easier with someone to watch my back. Even if it meant I'd have to let other people deal with what I have.

“I get that it seems like too much,” he says. “But it’s not. Not to me. My routines – if I leave anything behind, if anything gets on me, it’s traceable, trackable. Risky. And any mistakes are on me, without collateral damage. No one else has to get hurt. And by being as careful as I am, it’s like I was never there, and that means I don’t carry anything with me, either.”

Atsumu isn’t sure if he’s talking about cleanliness or the burdens of being a killing machine. He swallows thickly.

“So it’s worth it, for that. Logical even if tedious. And it makes me really good at what I do.” Atsumu snorts in response at the bragging, inwardly pleased.

“People are still gross, though, Omi-Omi.”

“That goes without saying, doesn’t it?” Sakusa’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly again. Damn him.

“For the record,” Sakusa continues, “I didn't choose you; you were just the first person to be without a partner, since Osamu changed positions."

Atsumu’s mouth curls in distaste at the reminder.

“What’s your verdict, then? Working with me?”

Sakusa shrugs. “I’m not the only weird one. Everyone at HQ are a little high strung in their own ways. Even you.”

“I truly beg to differ, Omi-kun.”

“Please. You’ve got a death wish, Miya.”

“And what makes you say that?” Atsumu tries to imitate a theatrical level of defensiveness, crossed arms and all, but his back still hurts. When are those painkillers going to kick in?

“Your fight style gets you so _close_ to who we’re trying to take down. I prefer my vital organs farther away.”

“Didn’t stop you from almost getting shot in the heart last time, did it?” Atsumu says, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Sakusa gives a short huff in reply (a laugh?) and nods.

“Agree to disagree, then. We have what works for us.”

Atsumu nods. “Deal.”

They arrive at the fourth house.

* * *

Sakusa, in a turn of events, gestures to let Atsumu do the honor of opening the door. Atsumu makes a show of it by kicking down the door and not fucking up his shin.

“You just timed that with Osamu,” Sakusa accuses. He whacks a stray guard that barrels out of the archway they pass by in the nose with the butt of his pistol and follows up with a clean shot to kill him.

Atsumu hears Osamu snort in his earpiece and he shouts over their firing, “Still cool though!”

This house is structured like the last one, a long hallway branching off into several interconnected rooms. Sakusa continues to let Atsumu take the lead as they move from room to room together to clear and search each one. Atsumu doesn’t think much of it, not until he gets a little hasty at barging through doorways.

Osamu gets in a “’Tsumu –“ before Sakusa yanks him back by the coattails to prevent him from being shot by a guard hiding at the side of the doorway. The combination of Osamu’s voice and a hand pulling him back echoes Osamu as a partner like a phantom limb. 

Atsumu shakes it off, not hearing Sakusa’s scolding when he ducks through the doorway to hit the guard’s knee, abdomen, and neck.

He moves up the stairs towards the next set of guards before the body hits the ground.

Knowing now that Sakusa is purposefully guarding his back as if Atsumu can’t handle himself irks him. Suddenly Atsumu is all too aware of where Sakusa is. Behind his left shoulder, Sakusa’s shoulder brushing the back of his arm. The tip of his elbow at Atsumu’s back when Sakusa turns and double checks rooms they pass by.

He’s meticulous. It’s irritating. Atsumu feels himself withdraw, only speaking to relay instructions or info to Sakusa, Osamu, and the children they rescue. He can feel Sakusa staring at him and his change in attitude. Hopefully, it would come off as fatigue.

The final house is cleared without fanfare. 

Atsumu climbs into their vehicle and lets out a deep, weary sigh. It’s been nearly 24 hours without sleep. He can hear Osamu congratulating them through the car’s screen and Sakusa mentioning interviews with the victims, but it’s blurred at the edges from fatigue.

“Are you going to tell me why all of a sudden you’re barely speaking anymore?”

Atsumu opens his eyes to Sakusa scrutinizing him.

“Just tired, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think it’s just that.”

Okay, _fine_. Atsumu straightens and turns to face him. “I’m not a kid. You don’t need ta’ hover over me. So I got injured, and what? You decide that it’s your duty to babysit me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miya,” Sakusa scoffs. “I can’t believe that’s the conclusion you jumped to. You’re acting more like a child now, even when you’re saying you aren’t.”

“Huh? You’re the one acting like my _shadow_! I don’t need a babysitter and I never have –“

Sakusa glares at him like he can’t believe they’re having this argument right now. “I’m not babysitting you - _you_ keep being reckless. I’m sure you have that twin telepathy shit, and that’s allowed you to take a lot of risks back then, but I’m not your brother. As we already know, there’s no guarantee I’ll always be there to have your back.”

 _Literally,_ Atsumu thinks. The stitches ache in agreement. Sakusa’s not done, however.

“And for the times that I am, am I not allowed to watch out for you?”

“You’re bein’ real two-faced here, Omi-kun. Do ya want to be there for me or not?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I’m asking you not to be selfish, Miya. What, I’m supposed to _let_ you die?”

"My brother might," Atsumu says.

Sakusa has nothing to say to that and drives on.

* * *

Atsumu leans against Osamu’s desk and watches him summarize the transcript from the various tapes of Atsumu and Sakusa interviewing the victims about Boulton.

Stretching, Osamu flops back in his chair to look at Atsumu.

"Akaashi and Bokuto found out about a dinner that the Young company is having in a couple of weeks,” he says. Atsumu nods for him to continue.

“Hinata and Kageyama are scheduled to fly out to clean up the drug and weapon stashes we've located on the islands the way you two cleaned out the houses on this side, but we're getting closer to nipping it in the bud. 'Cause of your success so far, I think Daichi's gonna want you and Sakusa as the undercover team to take out head honcho Roger Boulton."

"Undercover party?" Atsumu whistles low and slow. "I get to use those gold cufflinks, 'Samu, I've been waitin' for the right time." He holds up his wrists with plain silver cufflinks, and Atsumu sees the fox heads shining on his wrists in his mind.

"Those are tacky as shit," Osamu says, and just like that, they launch into a wrestling match that knocks over a stack of papers on his desk. Osamu cusses him out and Kuroo just cackles and steps over the mess they've made, off to refill his fourth cup of coffee. Kenma doesn't even look over.

Daichi does, in fact, mention this party to Atsumu and Sakusa during their meeting.

“Akaashi and Bokuto obtained invitations. It’s formal, so I’d say take your suits up a notch.” The embellished cardstock slides across the table, two fake names detailed in ornate calligraphy.

“You did well with the interviews. We have a general idea of Young’s extensive underground facility he calls his wine cellar; you’ll need to retrieve his hard drives where the safes are located in the mansion, then make it underground to disable the cells where we know more victims are being held. His external hard drives are pretty much the key here; probably has contacts we can trace.”

“Plus their drugs n’ guns. Easy peasy,” says Atsumu. Daichi laughs and spreads out a roughly drawn map over the table to point out the important locations, and they get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love me some tense wound dressing


	4. a night of insane

The evening of the mission, Suga shoos Sakusa and Atsumu into their warehouse of suits to pick out what they want to wear. Atsumu much prefers this dress up part to maps. It’s been a while since he’s has a chance to wear something other than a black suit.

He browses through the racks, gold cufflinks in his sweatpants pocket. He thinks he’ll go for a gold theme to match. He settles on a [tuxedo jacket](https://imgur.com/fL2o2QE) with a gold lace pattern at the shoulders whose colour fades in a gradient to black to match the suit underneath the lace. He pairs this with a black dress shirt, tie, and pants to really make the gold stand out.

Suga hums his approval while handing a gun holster and magazine to Atsumu, who tucks it into his belt at the small of his back. The arsenal of weapons is toned down for the party, regretfully. As he dresses he straps a blade sheath to each ankle and slides the matching daggers in.

He does a cheeky spin for Suga, who laughs and waves an eyeshadow palette menacingly. Atsumu allows him to pat shimmering gold over his eyelids and blend out brown eyeliner at the outer edges of his eyes. Daichi swinging by to check on them wolf whistles and Atsumu winks back, pleased with how he looks in the mirror.

Steady footsteps come up from behind him; Atsumu turns around to see Sakusa and reminds himself to breathe.

Sakusa has left behind the black button up and tie he usually wears and is in a tight black turtleneck instead. His slacks are the typical black, and like Atsumu, the [jacket](https://imgur.com/M10MzKh) is the statement piece. Black beading in a floral pattern blooms over the black jacket, glittering in the fluorescent light to match his eyes. Sakusa has dark smoky eyeshadow on with flecks of silver to match the beading. Black leather half palm gloves stretch across his knuckles. Most importantly:

The mask is off.

Atsumu was right about the strong nose and sharp jawline. Sakusa is undeniably handsome, gorgeous even, with his mouth curled into his usual frown. Atsumu would be spitting mad if he didn’t find him so attractive.

Suga handing Sakusa his gun and holster snaps Atsumu out of it.

“You look good, Omi-kun,” he says, willing his voice to stay steady. “Dressed to kill.”

Sakusa huffs a laugh and Atsumu focuses on the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“Yeah, Miya. You too. Let’s go.”

* * *

Their chauffeur stops the car in front of a Mediterranean inspired mansion. It has multiple balconies and floor to ceiling windows, and the house glows with warm lighting. Guests move in and out of the wide double doors of the main entrance, milling about on the perfect lawn and dipping their feet into the pool, mindful of their formal wear.

“Keep a look out for Boulton for now, and I’ll let you know when’s a good time to steal away to the safe,” Osamu says through their disguised earpieces. Both Atsumu and Sakusa have an assortment of earrings dotting their ears to mask the earpiece that mimics a tragus stud piercing.

Atsumu whistles lowly in awe of the size of the mansion as they stroll inside. They hand over their invitations and are admitted into the main ballroom; it has an impossibly high ceiling with a massive crystal chandelier sparkling perilously at the center.

A waiter steps in front of them to offer glasses of champagne. They both take one and Atsumu bends his arm at the elbow as an open invitation.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to that gentleman in the midnight blue coat, darling,” Atsumu says, his voice taking a lofty accent. Sakusa snorts and curls his slender fingers into the crook of Atsumu’s arm.

“Lead the way, sweetheart. Where do you know him from?”

Atsumu grins at the pet name, pleased that Sakusa is playing along. “Class in university ages back, you know, in Hava-Harvard?” Sakusa sips at his glass to keep himself from laughing.

He says over the rim of his glass, “I don’t recall. Too busy lounging in my sheer robe, drinking wine all day in our home.” Atsumu waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Sakusa just shakes his head in exasperation.

Atsumu turns up the charm at the man and the group of people he’s with; he pretends to know them, declaring the man must’ve forgotten him, how rude. He introduces Sakusa as his drop dead gorgeous husband, wouldn’t you agree? Let’s talk economics, have you invested recently?

“I’m banking a lot on Boulton’s insurance company,” the man says, and Atsumu likes the way Sakusa’s eyes shift from amused to shrewd.

“My husband and were on the fence about it,” Sakusa replies. “What makes Boulton such a worthy investment?”

The man mimes holding a credit card to cut a line of cocaine and swiping at his nose. The party titters with laughter and hushing.

“Ah, the cash equivalents,“ Atsumu nods sagely, and his grin is sharp when the group seems to find this hilarious.

The orchestra on the mezzanine begins to play something light, a classical waltz piece. Atsumu makes like he’s recognized the piece and drops his glass onto a server’s tray.

“Shall we, dear? I know you love Tchaikovsky.” He offers a hand to Sakusa and tips his head.

Sakusa’s mouth does a cute, wry twist. “This is Shostakovich, sweetheart.” The guests laugh.

Atsumu flaps his outstretched hand to say “doesn’t matter, hurry up”. Sakusa grabs it to pull Atsumu to the floor with a small smile.

Atsumu hovers his hands over Sakusa’s waist, unsure how to do this now that they’re here. Sakusa lays his hands gently over the lapels of Atsumu’s jacket and nods permission; Atsumu isn’t sure whether to find it attractive or annoying that Sakusa is an inch or two taller. They end up just swaying in a circle because neither know how to do the elaborate spinning that a classical waltz requires, shoulders shaking with laughter when Atsumu convinces Sakusa to try and they nearly crash into a properly dancing couple.

“Havin’ fun, Omi-kun?”

“All the servers are wearing collars,” Sakusa murmurs, business as always. Atsumu looks away to glance at a few of them and not think about the champagne scent heavy on Sakusa’s breath.

Its’s true. The servers have a wide ribbon tied around their necks, held in a bow at the back with a metal clasp. He notices some younger men and women with the same collars seated around what appear to be powerful people at a few tables.

“Staff and pets for the rich. Gross, Omi-kun.” Sakusa nods and is about to say something until excited whoops erupt in the crowd.

They turn to see Roger Boulton at the center of the tall staircase at the end of the room in a black and emerald suit and a stunning smile. Applause breaks out and they clap along politely.

“Good evening, all! Thank you for coming to celebrate the opening of this company. There’s food in the next room to your right, but drinks will flow all night in here. Feel free to explore the second floor here as well,” and his expression turns sly for a moment when guests wolf whistle. “I’ll be roaming around in this room and the dining hall shortly. Before we properly get into this party, I’d like us to watch a presentation on how we came to be.” Boulton turns and gestures at the screen hanging at another mezzanine.

The lights dim and a short film that mimics a Bond movie plays. The agent sprints down a hallway with a suitcase full of insurance forms away from armed pursuers and the guests laugh and cheer. It seems like a normal, silly video to celebrate until it cuts to some fake security camera shots of the actor running through some hallways.

Their earpieces whine.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Boulton says. Atsumu stops breathing.

Projected on the screen now is security camera footage of Atsumu and Sakusa with their backs to the camera. They watch themselves kill a guard, framed like it’s an action scene. Atsumu recognizes it’s the final house they cleared.

“You slipped,” Boulton continues. “And you cost me a lot of money. Let’s make a deal; you leave, and I don’t kill them.”

Atsumu shifts to look at Boulton staring straight at them, smile serene as he speaks into a small radio. Two swan sculptures made of ice are on display on pedestals at the corners of the screen. They each have a wide black ribbon wrapped around them. On the screen, the protagonist crashes through some glass, and on cue the ice swans explode across the mezzanine, a light shower of snow flurrying down onto the guests. They shriek and clap with delight, and Atsumu watches each person with a ribbon around their necks freeze in place and their faces drain of colour.

“I’m not a _rude_ host. Enjoy yourselves, but leave by midnight. You have three hours.” Their earpieces shriek with interference before Osamu’s frantic voice comes back on.

“Guys? Don’t fuck around, I know you’ve been flirtin’ all night, but you can’t turn off your earpieces –”

“We didn’t, Osamu,” Sakusa says. His hands tighten on Atsumu’s shoulders. “You saw the footage. Boulton knows we’re here. Have you or Kuroo or Kenma figured out where the safes are? There’s 21 servers on this floor and they’re hostages.”

“Footage? What footage?” Atsumu and Sakusa wait as Osamu watches through the security cameras of the short film repeating itself on the screen, audio muted as the guests return to socializing and dancing.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sakusa exhales sharply through his nose. “Safes, Osamu. The hard drives have everything we need to dismantle him. Where are they?”

“Third floor, second door on the left. _Exploding collars_ are not in the manual, what the fuck.”

“You work on the collars, we work on the hard drives,” Atsumu says. Osamu grunts an affirmative and drops the line.

Atsumu glances around for Boulton, but he’s disappeared. The music trills into an upbeat piece and the crowd milling about suddenly explodes into excitement. People swarm the floor around them.

The hairs on the back of Atsumu’s neck rise when he notices how many of the security guards here have their eyes on them. Atsumu pulls Sakusa in tighter. His hand on the small of Sakusa’s back mimics a comforting stroke as they sway off tempo. His thumb, slowly scraping along Sakusa’s jacket, cocks the gun in the concealed holster. Sakusa stares at him with a carefully blank expression and the heat of his palms sink into Atsumu’s waist underneath the open jacket.

The guards seem to be closing in. Also noticing this, Sakusa blinks and morphs his expression into a sultry one, eyes molten when he pulls at Atsumu’s tie. “How about we explore like Boulton said, handsome? Dance floor won’t miss us.” Sakusa drops his hands back to Atsumu’s waist and starts walking backwards.

Atsumu outright laughs at Sakusa’s effort to get them off the dance floor and figure out a plan to hide the way his heart pounds double time. “You don’t have to convince me, love. He said second floor’s free?”

“Hold on. Boulton’s got hard drives on him right now,” Osamu cuts in, watching the security feeds of the mansion. “He decided to keep them on his person instead of leaving them in the safe? He must be tryin’ to get to the cellar. Doorway at two o’clock, up the staircase.”

Sakusa tries to hold onto his waist. “Miya, wait – “

But Atsumu is already gone, vision tunnelling onto an emerald jacket closing a door behind him on the second floor. When Atsumu gets there, he’s in a small room with doors at each wall. A slam echoes to his left and Atsumu goes through the corresponding door. Boulton moves through parlor room after parlor room, Atsumu barely keeping up and only knowing where to follow based on the door slams as he enters each room just as Boulton leaves them.

The door slams and footsteps stop; Atsumu is too caught up in moving and doesn’t slow down. He breaks through the final doorway to another ballroom, zeroing in on Boulton whirling around to face him, and doesn’t hear the crackle of electricity.

Atsumu drops to his hands and knees, blinking through the pain of what felt like a punch ricocheting through his body. The side of his head throbs from whacking against the marble floor. He rolls away from the next assault by the guard and skids across the floor in his effort to stand up.

“A cattle prod? What the fuck, you think it’s the 1950’s?” Atsumu pants, cocking his gun.

“You’re lucky it’s not a stun gun,” Boulton says. “We don’t have all day. Grab him, we need to interrogate,” he directs the guard. “Who are you working with?”

“We don’t have all day,” Atsumu parrots, before ducking under the guard’s reach to knock the cattle prod out of his hand and firing two bullets through his face.

Atsumu gets a good look at the fury on Boulton’s face, but it smooths out into smugness. Atsumu’s skin crawls.

“Go,” Boulton says, and turns away. The doors behind him and on the side slam open, and Atsumu is being backed into side of the room where the _third_ door that Boulton closes behind him is.

There are so many guards that swarm and try to block Atsumu from the door Boulton left through. His hearing dissolves into white noise as Atsumu fires and fires, solely focused on leaving a straight line of incapacitated men behind him, swerving at the edges of the room under tables and around chairs as they give chase. He snatches cutlery off tables to stab, smashes glass vases across faces. He throws chairs and pushes tables to get in their way and jumps on top of a few to get ahead, then drops to roll underneath a table and catches a guard in the forehead with a bullet as he stands up.

There only ever seems to be more, and soon they’re close enough that he has no time to reload his handgun without risking his life. He yanks the knives out from the holsters at his ankles and spins them in his grip. He bares his teeth and lunges at the first guard he sees blocking his way.

Atsumu is desperately trying to find a point where he can safely put his back to so he can get his gun. It’s apparent that he’s going to be outnumbered if he can’t reach the door fast enough. His back aches where the stitches shift, and he hopes he hasn’t reopened the wound.

A hand closes around his ankle while he’s trying to get up on top of a table and Atsumu goes sprawling onto the dinnerware, a plate knocking into his mouth.

“Ow, _fuck_ ,” he hisses. For the first time tonight, a sliver of panic curls around his heart. He has to get up. He’s going to die if he doesn’t.

A knife glints in his peripheral and a hand pulls at his hair, snapping his head back and exposing his throat. Atsumu slams his palms down and makes to twist against the weight of the guard leaning over him, but the guard goes limp from a headshot and the knife falls to the table.

A pair of familiar dress shoes attached to familiar legs lope up onto the table, and as Atsumu rolls over to get up, he’s never been more relieved to see the glower that is Sakusa’s trademark. It’s especially thunderous this time as shots ring throughout the ballroom.

Atsumu reloads and joins in. “Omi-kun, my knight!”

“I fucking hate your fucking guts, Miya, you fucking shit,” is what Sakusa says over their fire, and Atsumu cackles. They hop off the table and move towards the door.

Somehow now that Sakusa is ( _impossibly_ ) here, Atsumu can hear again. “Boulton’s moving towards the cellar through the third floor hallway stairwell. Keycard needed.“ Osamu’s voice is strained with the effort to stay calm.

“We gotta go, Omi-kun, he’s getting away –“ Atsumu can see a clear path and turns back to tug at the back of Sakusa’s jacket. It’s reminiscent of how Sakusa pulled at him before, not that long ago.

Atsumu’s too late, anyway. Time slows down as Sakusa gets a knife through his forearm.

Atsumu hears his heartbeat pounding in his ears. All he can see is the blood glinting off the blade. The guard attached to it is taken care of by Sakusa without a change in his firing speed, like _he hasn’t been stabbed in the fucking arm_ –

“ATSUMU! GO!” Sakura roars, and Atsumu breaks away, sprinting out of the ballroom, up the stairs, and down towards the innocent closet door near the end of the hallway. Using a guard’s card he swiped, he waves it vaguely at the doorknob for the sensor until it unlocks and takes the stairs three at a time to the cellar.

When Atsumu gets there, the jail cells have solid metal doors that abruptly start slamming closed over the bars, with panicked shouting from the people held inside. Atsumu skids to a halt, looking around wildly.

A flash of green. Atsumu beelines for it, grabbing onto the wall edge to swing himself around the corner. Guards pop out into the hallway like it’s a video game. Atsumu fires at them like it’s a video game. The guards are peripheral; Boulton, still carrying those hard drives, is his target. Jumping easily over the bodies, it’s just a straight sprint to what Atsumu figures is Boulton’s apocalypse bunker. Small door, large room behind steel panels.

Atsumu aims at the keypad, shattering the screen and making Boulton shout and flinch away. He nails Boulton in the thigh next. The hard drives clatter across the concrete. Blood seeps across it, too.

Boulton slumps in pain against the door with his hands pressed against his wound, watching Atsumu pick up each hard drive silently. It seems like he has nothing to say now.

Atsumu strides over and quickly knocks him out with the butt of his handgun to be sure. He yanks the handkerchief from Boulton’s suit pocket and ties it around the bullet wound.

“The police are in. Plug the hard drives in and get out, we'll handle the data from there,” Osamu says.

Atsumu’s fingers fumble to untangle the wires. “Where’s Omi – Sakusa?” He hurries back from where he came, back up through the stairwell.

“He’s fine, the medics are taking him back to base. He finished those men off, ‘Tsumu, he’s a fucking monster.”

“I told ya so,” is all Atsumu says, and bursts back into the main floor. The room is in chaos with guests being escorted away and police rounding the servers up. He scans the room quickly and finds Sakusa staring right at him through the open front doors as medics back him towards their vehicle. His throat and jaw have blood smeared across them. The jeweled suit appears even darker with blood (his own? Someone else’s?) seeping into it.

The look on Sakusa’s face says _Thank god you’re alive, I’m going to kill you,_ before the car door shuts closed on him.

Police officers shout at Atsumu and head down to release the victims and presumably arrest the unconscious Boulton. Medics grab at him and push him into their vehicle.

“See you back at HQ,” Osamu says, and Atsumu nods, too tired to remember Osamu can’t see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finely tailored suits are simply (chef's kiss). also i had to look up what a cattle prod was because i didn't want atsumu to get completely KO'd by a stun gun, so my search history is now weird and i've probably been put on a list?
> 
> final chapter is next!


	5. fear that you trust

Atsumu’s given the all clear to rest in his room to recover from a minor concussion. The stitches haven’t come undone, thankfully, and after one nurse innocently remarks on how neat they are, he’s still trying to will the flush in his cheeks away from remembering how Sakusa’s hands felt on his skin. 

He sits on his bed and his body aches from how tired and relieved he is. Daichi visited him in the room he was in once the nurse left to update that they’d done well – all victims rescued and being checked over as well, Boulton and his security entail taken into custody, the illegal drugs and weaponry found in the depths of the mansion turned over to the police. Their organization gets a hefty cut of the guns and funding for being able to shut the trafficking ring down.

Atsumu’s not had a chance to stop by wherever Sakusa is being held after Daichi orders him to get some rest. He wonders how he’s doing and whether he should go see him? Or would Sakusa kill him, hospital gown and IV drip swinging?

There’s a knock on his door. “What?” Atsumu snaps. The door opens and Osamu shuffles in.

"Daichi says the both of ya aren't going on missions for at least three weeks," Osamu says. He scoops up a volleyball on the floor of Atsumu’s room and they start tossing it back and forth.

Atsumu catches the ball and launches it at the floor so it bounces up into Osamu's face. "Three weeks?!"

Osamu is unfazed when he catches the ball and returns the favor, and now they're absentmindedly competing at who will smack the other one in the face first. "At least, yeah. Glad you're okay, but Sakusa's arm needs a little rehab after he's out of the hospital wing. We can spar and stuff to kill time if you want -"

Atsumu's already tuned him out, as per usual, to continue thinking about Sakusa in the hospital wing. It's been a while since any of the agents were injured badly enough to have an extended time off; hell, Atsumu's never been in there for more than a few hours at a time to sleep off some bruises and scuffs or that cut above his eyebrow that he whined at Osamu for four days straight after their first mission because it ‘ruined his face’.

The ball bounces off the wall next to his head. “’Tsumu. Atsumu, you shit.”

Atsumu refocuses. “ _You’re_ the shit. What is it?”

He’s expecting Osamu to say _thank you, yes I am,_ but Osamu has a tight, uncomfortable expression on his face. Atsumu recognizes it. It’s the Apology Face. Most of the time, they never apologize for anything; they just carry on like nothing happened. This is the face both of them make when they’re worried the other twin is still mad about something.

Osamu seems to steel himself for who knows what. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say ‘I told you so’, fucker.”

“’Samu, y’know I’m all for getting on your case, but what?”

“Say that you were _right_. That I’m not cut out for this, and I should be in the field with you.” Osamu takes a shuddering breath. “If I didn’t fuck up the security cam video, Boulton wouldn’t have known it was you two and played his stupid game. Sakusa wouldn’t have gotten injured –“

“And if you didn’t see him runnin’, Boulton woulda’ hid in his apocalypse bunker like the coward he is and the collars would’ve detonated,” Atsumu says. “You realized what was wrong, made the right call, and we figured it out.”

Osamu looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “You’re bein’ _considerate_. Who are you and what did you do to my shithead twin?”

Atsumu shrugs. “Won’t last for long. I give it five more seconds. You did your best. We rescued those kids. Two, one, get the fuck out.”

“I knew Sakusa was good for you.” Osamu now has the I Know Something You’re Too Dense To face on, and Atsumu snatches the ball out of his hands to bounce it off Osamu’s head.

“Who said anythin’ about Sakusa?”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“No, I literally just got here after being lectured by Dad,” Atsumu says. Osamu chuckles, then retaliates and smacks Atsumu in the chest with the ball.

“ _Omi-kun_ ’s probably waiting for you in the hospital wing right now.”

Atsumu clears his throat, uncomfortable. He blinks away the vision of the knife going through Sakusa’s forearm. “Uh, no. I’m the reason he’s in there at all. Back at the mansion, his face definitely said ‘I’m gonna kill you’ before our medics spirited him away.”

“Are you into that?”

Atsumu barks out a shocked laugh. “’Samu, what the fuck.”

“That’s not a no.” Osamu grins, impish. “You like him, huh? He _saved your life_. Swoon.”

“Osamu.” The guilt stings the back of his throat, but his twin isn’t wrong. Atsumu remembers the eyeshadow, the suit, the heat in his eyes and the pull on his tie.

“Tall, handsome, saved your life, great eyeliner, straight man to your comic,” Osamu ticks off on his fingers.

“Here’s hoping he’s not that straight,” Atsumu mutters, then swears colorfully. Osamu snickers and tosses the ball onto the bed.

Atsumu can’t stop thinking about it now that Osamu’s brought it up. “Pissin’ him off is fun.” Knife through arm. His chest tightens. “Oh, fuck you. Get out, I’m not talkin’ about this anymore.”

Osamu’s face softens before he leaves. “Go see him. Don’t brood.”

“Fuck off, I do not brood.”

Atsumu gently tips over onto his mattress and sighs. He listens to his brother’s footsteps trail away, an echo of the dull pain in his head.

He dreams of tuxedos, the pain of a blade slicing across his back, and blood.

* * *

Two weeks pass by without Atsumu or Sakusa speaking to one another. Atsumu barely leaves his room. Osamu tries to visit, but Atsumu just shuts him out.

During that time, he thinks about “ _I’m asking you not to be selfish, Miya,_ ”, thinks of the amused smile when they danced together, thinks of the heat of Sakusa’s palms at his ribcage.

He thinks of Sakusa’s knowing expression when he tried to get Atsumu to stay with him on the ballroom floor the moment Osamu told him Boulton’s location.

He thinks of how he went and was _selfish_ anyway, and now look; Sakusa’s arm got fucked up. He thinks of metal ripping apart ligaments and muscle fibers and the effort and time it takes for those to reach each other again.

Atsumu thinks of Sakusa’s hands and what it would take for him to reach out to Sakusa, after all of this. If Sakusa would reach out to him, too. He thinks about _reckless,_ thinks about _death wish_ , and considers asking Daichi if he could work alone, maybe.

Atsumu thinks about “ _any mistakes are on me, without collateral damage_ ,” and thinks that yeah, maybe Sakusa was right.

A knock on the door has Atsumu sitting up and padding over to open it. He opens his mouth to swear at Osamu and the words catch in his throat.

Sakusa is the one glowering at him from the doorway, arm in a sling.

“Miya.”

Atsumu’s pretty much cornered now. He plasters on a smile. “Omi-kun, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Atsumu waves at hand at the only chair in his room at his desk. Sakusa closes the door behind him and leans back on it instead.

Sakusa doesn’t pull any punches. “You’re avoiding me. Cut it out.”

Atsumu laughs, fake. “I’ve just been taking it easy, Omi-kun, like Daichi told us to.”

“Bullshit. You’re avoiding me because you think I’m angry about this,” he shakes his arm, “don’t you?”

“Are you not?” Atsumu asks. Sakusa rolls his eyes.

“You know I’ve had worse. I thought we were on the same page, Miya, about not being reckless.”

Atsumu’s pride flares, and even though he’s telling himself not to, to apologize, he goes and argues anyway.

“If I didn’t take that risk, they all would have died.”

Sakusa’s brow creases more. “You would have too, going off by yourself. He had his entire roster of men after you; we had the time to figure something out. Do you not have an _ounce_ of self-preservation –"

"I had it under control the second Osamu gave me the location,” Atsumu counters. “Any longer and –"

"Almost losing liters of blood from your throat isn’t _under control._ If his threat was a bluff, Miya –"

Atsumu stands from where he flopped onto his bed and stalks over. "It wasn't and we both know it –"

Sakusa makes a low frustrated noise in his throat. "We still could have regrouped! The underground facility was huge, and we knew every. Single. Piece of it. Why the fuck do you think we took so long with those interrogations? Boulton would’ve trapped himself in his bunker just waiting for us to get him. We had the time. And yet, you decided _not_ to think about any of that, and _didn’t_ help me figure out what would've allowed us to save them and at the same time not have your jugular sliced in half!"

He’s got a point. Atsumu digs himself into his grave; to work alone, he has to make Sakusa leave.

“It was worth it,” he says, and _but not you_ dissolves in his mouth.

Sakusa scoffs, unfazed by this. "Having a death wish when we had the time to figure out a plan is worth it to who? Your brother? You think you'd finally win your stupid fucking argument with him if you _died_?"

"Omi-kun, are you saying you care about me?"

Sakusa gives him the fiercest glare he’s seen yet, eyes glinting as his brow furrows.

"I don't give a flying fuck about your shitty inferiority complex with your equally shit for brains twin. You keep throwing yourself as the most infuriating death seeking wrench into our plans that would've worked if you just _followed them_ or _talked to me_ , and you just expect me to clean up your fucking mess while you walk away the hero?

Then you pull this stupid moping shit without even _talking to me_ , like I said. Get your head out of your ass, dumbshit. I’m still here.”

Atsumu blinks rapidly. “I was the reason you were skewered, Omi-kun. Not exactly the best choice you’ve had, to decide to be here.”

Sakusa gives a frustrated huff. “And I’ve already said it doesn’t matter. I’ve made better choices than you anyway. Exhibit A: if I didn’t find you, you’d be dead, so I don’t regret it.”

He pins Atsumu with a hard stare. “If _you_ regret it, get over yourself. You have one week until we’re cleared to accept missions. I don’t know about you, but I’m restless as fuck.”

Warmth curls in his sternum. Atsumu swallows to push it away. “Working as the Lonely Lance ain’t as appealing even when I turned you into a kebab?”

Sakusa ignores him. “The next time you do this again, I'm throwing you into the psychiatrist's so they can scrub your brain wrinkles smooth."

"But you're not throwing _me_ away, are you, Omi-Omi?" Atsumu says.

"Is your brain smoothing out from that concussion already? Of course I'm not leaving you."

Sakusa turns away from him to go his own room. "We're partners. you'd be dead without me, Atsumu."

" _Minor_ concussion," Atsumu mumbles, rendered nearly speechless because _Atsumu,_ because _partners_. “Wait – Omi-kun –”

Sakusa turns around.

“Your arm,” Atsumu gestures vaguely at it. “Is it – okay?”

Sakusa shrugs again. “I’m restless as fuck,” he repeats.

Atsumu laughs. “Me too. How’re you gonna spend the time?”

“ _Been_ spending it. Physical therapy,” Sakusa says, hand flexing in the sling. He quirks his eyebrows at Atsumu like he could’ve been doing something more productive than brooding. Atsumu thinks about Osamu’s teasing weeks ago. His chances are waning, but he tries anyway.

“You up for spending it with me, partner?”

Sakusa’s expression remains impassive, searching Atsumu’s face. “Who’s two faced now? Last I heard, you were avoiding me.”

“But I’ve missed you,” Atsumu mock-whines. His heart’s doing funny things. “Everything’s clean, I swear I did laundry. Wait, I don’t remember when. Wanna watch me do laundry and then we can pull up some illegally downloaded movie?”

Sakusa’s eyes take on an amused glint. “I’m telling Daichi you’re downloading movies. We’re technically part of the police force.”

Atsumu gasps, scandalized. “Omi-kun, _don’t_. I’ll bring my laptop so we can watch a movie _while_ I do laundry. You can pick the movie, even, just don’t tell Daichi.”

“Bribery,” Sakusa says. “Sure.”

Atsumu grins and he sees Sakusa cut his eyes away from his face. Huh. Atsumu’s gonna save that for later.

“So do I have to wash the clothes on me too to get you to sit next to me on my bed, or – ?”

Sakusa flips him off with his free hand while reading the detergent label off the bottle sitting on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quieter ending than the chapters so far. but now it's time for an epilogue, folks!


	6. epilogue: you and me, right away

Atsumu whoops as he swings himself into the armored SUV. “The dream team, back at it, you’re _welcome_ everybody!”

“Atsumu, shut the fuck up, it is 7am.” Sakusa slides into the vehicle with more grace.

“Not a morning person, love, that’s alright; it’s breakfast time, which means –“

“Can we go to McDonald’s?” Atsumu says at the same time as Osamu from the dashboard screen.

Sakusa full on laughs, caught off guard. Atsumu’s eyes go as round as saucers and his jaw drops. Even from behind the mask, he knows Sakusa’s smile is bright.

“Osamu,” he breathes, not daring to break the moment.

Sakusa revs the engine obnoxiously loud, the softest patch of pink peeking out from under the edges of the mask. “I hate you; I’m going to get _only_ a black coffee to spite you.”

That snaps Atsumu back into his body. “Fuck, Omi-kun, we have _good_ coffee in the cafeteria. Don’t do that to yourself.” Osamu’s making retching noises over the line.

“You did this to me, Atsumu, you can suffer watching _me_ suffer through shitty coffee.”

“It’s what works for us,” Atsumu echoes, remembering a different conversation in the same car, and it feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading this. i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it; i've not written for quite a while and i'm sure it shows. once again i'd like to thank @painpackerrs on twitter for giving me permission to write about their fantastic undercover agent sakuatsu artwork! and also, carly rae jepsen, because dedicated was on repeat as i wrote this.


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